St Monica's Mercy
by Jasper98
Summary: A woman from Carisi's past is found close to death, and the investigation into the events leading up to it becomes deeper and far more sinister than the SVU detectives could suspect.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters of SVU. This fic takes place somewhere in Season 16** **, because that's where I'm at currently! Please forgive any criminal/legal jargon that I misuse, as I am not accustomed to it.** **Furthermore, this story has an M rating due to strong adult themes, so reader discretion advised. SVU is a dark show, and this fic won't shy away from that. Thank you for reading!**

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She did not know who she was. She barely knew her own name, or where she had been taken, only that every part of her body was screaming in pain and yet near completely numb at the same time. Her clothing was torn, that dress from Macy's that had cost over a hundred dollars, her hair messy and falling in her face, in her mouth. The ground was rough and abrasive against her skin, as she was pushed and dragged, back and forth, back and forth. She stared at the light of the street, trying to breathe, trying to block out the sounds and sensations of what was happening to her.

The second man finished and pulled out of her, and the first dragged her up to her feet. She could barely stand right, one of her shoes was missing. "Had enough, huh?" The first asked. She tried to look at him, but the alleyway was dark and her vision was swimming. Her head throbbed, and she leaned back against the cool, dark walls for support. She felt the warm, stickiness of blood between her legs, beneath her hair.

"Stop," She managed, feeling like she was about to throw up. She pitched forward, falling on the second man, who caught her, bracing her by the arms.

"Don't worry," He said, his face shadowy. She caught the glimmer of a gold tooth from his smile. "This will all be over soon."

There was a flash of silver metal, and before she could react, she felt a burning, blinding pain in her abdomen, once, twice… Screams of pain tore from her lips, and a burly hand was clamped over her mouth, keeping her silent. The blade entered and exited her again and again, too many times for her battered mind to keep count. She could no longer stand, and collapsed to the ground, eyes glazed, mouth open in a scream cut short.

She watched as the first man and the second man wiped the knife on his coat before sheathing it. Then the two walked out of the alleyway, their backs silhouetted by the light of the street, before they were gone.

She was still breathing, heart still beating, faint, weak, but they were both still there. She wasn't dead, not yet. Then suddenly, a burst of strength. She dragged herself to her knees, her dress now covered in red blossoms, and began to drag herself towards the light of the street. St. Monica, protect me… She thought, although she couldn't remember who Monica was, or why she could protect her.

She pulled herself upright by grabbing onto a dumpster, her head light and vision fuzzy. Pushing herself forwards, she staggered into the street before collapsing again, beneath a streetlamp. A trail of blood strung behind her. The lights were too bright, dizzying and blinding her, and she closed her eyes. "Please," She murmured, her voice raspy and sore. "Help…"

There was nothing, only the sound of passing cars, the buzz of electricity. This would be the last thing she would ever hear, she thought, when there was a screech of tires grinding against asphalt, the sound of a car door opening, heavy footsteps running close to her.

"Miss, can you hear me?" A woman's voice was close to her face, nearly shouting. She felt strong hands lift her up, and then a flurry of curse words. She meekly stirred, trying to turn her head. The woman was speaking again, now talking to someone else. "This is Officer Porter, I have a victim with multiple stab wounds, evidence of an assault…"


	2. Chapter 1

Olivia Benson had done this hundreds of times, but that didn't make each time any easier. Seeing victims in the hospital, battered and bruised, terrified, alone was more emotionally taxing than it looked. This one had it particularly bad. Half a dozen stab wounds in her abdomen and arms, bruising and scrapes across her shoulders and face, a lump on the top of her head and a concussion to go with it. Evidence of a sexual assault. The off-duty cop that had found her said that she had dragged herself out of the alleyway, barely coherent, close to bleeding out. This last bit of strength had saved her life. CSI was going over the scene now, other detectives were looking over security footage, trying to see where she had come from. They still did not know her name.

Detective Rollins met her in the hospital hallway, casting a glance inside the hospital room where the victim was lying in bed. "When'd she wake up?" Rollins asked, keeping her voice low. The floor was busy, with doctors and nurses hurrying back and forth across the halls. Benson and Rollins pulled aside, standing outside the victim's door.

"The nurse said she's been conscious for about two hours now," Benson replied. "She's was out for quite some time though. They told me that she's already had a blood transfusion since coming in."

"Is she ready for visitors yet?" Rollins asked, placing her hand on the door handle. "Has anyone contacted relatives?"

"She was found in a torn dress, no purse, no ID. She's still a Jane Doe," The Sergeant returned, as they entered the room. "Let's just see what she remembers." The victim looked up when they entered, her brow furrowing in confusion. Sergeant Benson spoke first.

"Good morning," She said, her voice soft and kind. "My name is Olivia Benson, and this is my partner, Detective Amanda Rollins. We just wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Detective?" The young woman asked. She seemed dazed, her dark eyes moving slowly between the two women. She was young, Benson put her in her late twenties. Her face was purple with some bruising and red with scrapes, and she breathed slowly, as if the motion hurt her. Benson remembered that the nurse had told her she had a broken rib. "Like the police?"

"Yes, the police," Rollins answered. "We came as soon as we heard of what happened. Can you tell us your name?" Rollins asked, and the woman nodded.

"My name is Sophia," She said slowly. "Sophia Danatto."

"How are you feeling, Sophia?" Benson asked, and she shook her head.

"My head," She said, reaching up and touching the back of her hair, now brushed and clean. "I think I hit my head. And the rest of me… they said that I was stabbed? I don't feel much…" She reached for her stomach, pulling back the bed sheet, and Benson quickly distracted her, not wanting for the young woman to strain her injuries.

"You were stabbed with a knife several times," Benson explained. "And you have a concussion and broken rib. You'll be on painkillers for some time. Just take it easy." She watched as Sophia took in this information, turning it over in her mind. She looked to grow more and more upset - perhaps her memories were coming back.

"An off-duty police officer was the one who found you outside of an alleyway," Rollins added. "Do you remember any of that?"

Sophia looked down at her lap, her lip quivering. Rollins and Benson exchanged a glance. "What happened to me?" She whispered, and Benson tightly swallowed.

"We were hoping that you could tell us that, Sophia," She said. "Somebody did this to you. We need to find out who."

Sophia shook her head, wiping the threat of tears quickly from her eyes. "Not _somebody_ ," She said. "There were two of them. Two men, dressed in black. It was so dark inside the alleyway - I couldn't see their faces. They…" She stopped, memories flooding back, visible all over her face. "Oh my God," She choked, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She turned her face away from Benson and Rollins, her arms shaking. "They took turns. I'm remembering now… they both… they both… did it. Then one of them stabbed me, and they left me in the alleyway to die." Benson and Rollins both noticed her shallow breaths and the heart rate monitor beginning to pick up. Perhaps she wasn't quite ready for so many questions just yet.

"It's alright," Benson said, laying a hand on Sophia's arm. The young woman flinched, and Benson slowly retracted her arm. "It's over, and we're going to find the ones who did this to you. You're safe now." Sophia shook her head, her lower lip quivering, and didn't speak further.

"Do you think that you would be able to do a rape kit?" Rollins asked gently, and Sophia nodded silently, staring at her lap. "That will help us a lot. Thank you." She slowly got to her feet, her gaze going outside of Sophia's room window to see Detectives Tutuola and Carisi entering the hospital wing. She hoped this meant that CSI had found something on the crime scene and they could get further ahead on the case than they were with her.

"We'll be in touch soon," Benson said gently, getting up as well. "Try to get as much rest as you can."

Sophia nodded as the pair left the room, and Benson sighed, shutting the door behind them. "Her attackers wanted her to be found," She deduced. "They would have tried to hide her body, not leaving her out for someone to stumble across."

"Sending a message, maybe?" Rollins wondered. "They must not have counted on her living through that."

"Maybe," Benson muttered, turning to greet Tutuola, who was coming towards them with two cups of coffee in hand. He handed one to each of them, bringing a smile to Benson's face. "Thanks Fin, I owe you."

"Any luck at the crime scene?" Rollins asked, and Tutuola shook his head.

"Nothing much yet. Lots of blood, which I'm sure matches up with Jane Doe here. We'll have to wait for more," He said, casting a glance into Sophia's room. "Geez, she looks rough."

"She's had a pretty bad night," Rollins said drily.

"And she's not Jane Doe anymore," Benson added, hoping to steer the discussion. "Her name is Sophia Danatto."

Carisi sharply looked up from the rack of brochures he was scanning over, staring at Benson in disbelief. "Sophia Danatto?" He repeated, looking alarmed. "Are you sure?"

"That's what she told us," Benson said, perturbed. "Why, do you know her?"

Carisi shook his head, the alarm disappearing from his face. He had always had a hard time concealing his emotions. "I, ah, we went to school together," He said gravely, swallowing tersely. "Grew up in the same neighborhood. She lived the next street over from me." He stepped forward, looking over through the Sophia's window. "I can't believe that this happened to her."

"Do you think she remembers you?" Rollins asked encouragingly. "Maybe she'll be more comfortable talking to someone she knows."

"I don't know," Carisi frowned. "It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"She seemed pretty upset," Benson said. "Let's tread carefully right now. She's in a fragile state."

Carisi looked back into Sophia's room, feeling an ache in his chest. There was such a strange juxtaposition between the whiteness of her hospital gown and the shine of her straight, brown hair with the bruises and scrapes on her face and chest and the bandages around her arms. He remembered the little girl playing kick the can with the other neighborhood kids on Staten Island, seeing her happy and laughing with friends. It was such a shock, seeing her brutalized this way. The detectives had told him that she had been stabbed, been raped. It made him sad, and furious at the same time.

She turned her face towards the window and spotted him looking in at her. Carisi found his face growing hot, as though he were a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, only to check back and see her again, staring at him through the glass, her eyes squinted as she tried to place him.

"Sonny?" She mouthed, and Carisi looked towards the other detectives.

"Go in," Benson encouraged, and Carisi cleared his throat, walking nervously through the door. They still didn't know the exact circumstances of her attack, and he didn't want to frighten her further with the details CSI had found at the crime scene. Slowly, he opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

She turned to face him, looking stunned to see him standing before. "Hi, Sophia," He said gently, a smile coming to his face. "Do you remember me?"

"Sonny Carisi," She said, her voice raspier than he remembered. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a detective now, with Manhattan SVU," He said, hovering at the edge of her bed. He had seen dozens of assault victims before, but seeing _her_ was different. No one was ever granted immunity from this sort of thing. "Can - can I sit down?"

"Please," She said, looking over the the chair positioned by her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" He asked her, and she swallowed grasping at the top of her blanket. He had been a senior when she was a freshman, but he remembered that she looked exactly as she did in high school.

"I think it will be worse when the painkillers wear off," She said quietly, then quickly shifted the attention back to him. "Sonny, how have you been? You look so grown up." She teased through a busted lip, and he noticed that she was trying not to talk about what had happened to her.

"I'm fine," He said, trying not to look at her with the pity he felt. He didn't want her to assume he thought any less of her after what had happened. "Become a cop, then a detective, taking night classes at Fordham."

"Wow," She said, quietly smiling. "Your parents must be proud."

"What about you? Did you make it off the island?"

"I'm a teacher now, in Tribeca," She said with pride. "High school algebra and trigonometry."

"You were always smarter than half the block anyway," He told her, earning a smile. He couldn't look at her and not see the bruises, the bandages where someone had hurt her. "Sophia," He sighed, bowing his head. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Her face darkened, and she turned her face away from his. "I - I don't know," She said quietly. Her body tensed up, her heart rate monitor quickened. "I told the detectives already -"

"I won't make you tell it again," He told her, and she relaxed. "It's okay. We're going to find out who did this to you. I'll make sure of that."

Sophia pressed her lips together, looking pained, and Carisi wondered if he was overstepping his bounds. After all, it had nearly been ten years since they had last spoken to one another. He didn't want to overwhelm her, especially after what she had gone through.

He cleared his throat, bracing his hands on his knees and standing up. "Can I get you anything? Call your parents maybe?"

"No," She said, rather forcibly, and then corrected her expression. "They - they, ah, live upstate now. I don't want them to know… what happened just yet."

"Okay," He acquiesced. "We'll be in touch with you soon, just try to get some rest." He reached inside the pocket of his coat, pulling out a business card. On the back of it, he scrawled his cell phone number with a stolen pen from the cabinets near the room's sink. "And if you need _anything_ , call me, alright?"

She looked up at him and meekly nodded. Carisi thought of her parents as he bid her goodbye. Mrs. Danatto was a kindergarten teacher at the elementary school, Mr. Danatto was a mechanic. It pained him to imagine their faces upon seeing their only daughter, savagely beaten and brutalized like this, thrown away and left to die.

"Get anything from her?" Tutuola asked, as Carisi shut her door behind him.

Carisi growled his reply, striding towards the elevator doors. "We'll find these sons of bitches."


	3. Chapter 2

Back at the precinct, the detectives were creating a spread, charting Sophia Danatto's case. A photograph of her taken at the hospital was tacked to the center, beneath it, photos of her injuries. It made Carisi sick to his stomach to look at. How could he reconcile the girl he knew from his quiet Arden neighborhood to the one who had become a victim like this?

"You said you were neighbors growing up?" Benson appeared at his side, looking over at the beginnings of the spread. Sophia's testimony hadn't given them much - there were photos of the crime scene, male silhouettes of attackers A and B, but that was all they had so far.

"Yeah," Carisi said, swallowing tersely. "Her family lived the next street over from mine. I think she might have been friends with one of my sisters for a while - I don't really remember."

"Was she a good kid? Kept out of trouble?"

"Yeah, yeah," Carisi said, his eyes going to the photos of her. "She was three years younger than me, so I didn't know her that well, but she was smart. She told me she's a teacher now. Math, I think."

"And her family?"

"Her mom was a kindergarten teacher," Carisi said, remembering how Sophia had looked when she told him not to contact them. "Her dad was a mechanic. They were a nice Catholic family."

"You can't let your emotions get the best of you in this one," Benson said cautiously. "I know that you knew her from your past, but you still have a job to do."

"I know," He said dismissively, shaking his head. "I know that."

Just then, Detective Tutuola came forward, balancing an open laptop in his hands. "We've found security footage that places Sophia at Moretti's Italian Restaurant, at twelve am the night of the attack," He said, pressing play. The grainy traffic cam showed her stepping out of the restaurant in the same dress she had been found in. Behind her, a young man stepped out, his arm around her waist. He ushered her towards the curb, towards a waiting taxi cab on the street.

"Who is that?" Carisi asked, watching as the man opened the door for Sophia, made sure that she got in, and shut it behind her. The man stepped back, watching the cab disappear down the street, before going back into Moretti's.

"We haven't ID'd him yet," Fin replied. "And, the license plate on the cab's a fake. It hasn't matched to anything on our registry. We're still looking, but we lose her from here until two-fifteen, when she was found by the officer."

"That's over two hours where the assaults took place," Benson mused. "We need to fill that gap. Find out who was with her the night that this happened, and anyone else she may have talked to.

"I'll go," Carisi volunteered, and Benson held back.

"Actually, Carisi, I need you here. Fin, you and Rollins go down to the restaurant. Find out who was there that night."

"This is making me hungry," Fin grumbled, as he and Rollins got out of the car, facing Moretti's.

"Nice place," Rollins commented, pushing the front doors open. A surprisingly spacious dining area extended back from the street, lit by the daylight from the windows from the street. The place was entirely empty, and the detectives slowly navigated through the sea of tables and chairs towards the back.

"We're not open yet," A man came out behind a set of doors, holding a clipboard in his hands. Rollins flashed her badge, and the man stiffened, setting it down.

"We just have a few questions about the night of July 16th," Fin said, sharing a look with Rollins. She noticed the kitchen staff in the back, preparing to open for the day. She headed towards the back, as Fin was getting the man's name.

"Hey, you can't go back there," He protested, raising his voice.

"You're not in any trouble. Are you the owner?" Fin asked, drawing him inside and distracting him as Rollins entered the kitchens. Several of the staff looked up in perturbed annoyance, and Rollins showed her badge to them too.

"I'm Detective Rollins with NYPD. Was anyone here working the night of the sixteenth?" She asked, watching them exchange looks with one another.

"I wasn't…" Someone mumbled, returning to chopping onions, and the rest followed suit. Rollins sighed, trying not to become too frustrated. It wasn't unlike witnesses not to want to talk sometimes.

"Come on, that was two nights ago," She frowned. "There really was no one here that was working? We can find out who was, but that makes things harder on you."

Again, the uncomfortable murmuring silence. No one was willing to answer her, which was already setting off alarm bells in her mind. Had someone told them not to talk? They were interrupted by the sound of the double doors being tossed open.

"Get back to work," The owner said sharply, turning towards her. "You and your pal, get a warrant and come back. We're not answering any questions." Behind him, Fin shrugged his shoulders in defeat, and Rollins realized that there wasn't anything else that they could do.

"Alright," She said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "We're going."

She couldn't shake the strange feelings she had gotten from that place as they walked out the doors. The owner had been openly hostile, and his staff completely clammed up.

"What a charmer." She rolled her eyes.

"That was Louis Moretti, and he's definitely hiding something," Fin commented. "Doesn't want to involve the police."

"No one on the kitchen staff would talk to me either," She added. "Even before Louis came in. I hadn't even told them about Sophia yet."

"Detective!" Both Rollins and Fin turned around to see a teenaged boy hurrying out of the side entrance and towards the road, looking behind them to make sure that no one had seen him come out. The detectives exchanged a glance before meeting him near the alley, so that he couldn't be seen from the front windows of the restaurant.

"You work here?" Fin asked, and the kid nodded, pulling off his rubber gloves and stuffing them in a white apron.

"Yeah," He muttered, keeping his voice low. "But don't tell Louis that I spoke to you, okay? I don't want to lose my job."

"It's alright, we won't," Fin reassured him. "What's your name?"

"It's ah, Michael," The kid said, looking over back at the restaurant again. "Mike Scofield. I just bus tables and wash dishes, but I was working that night. There was a big banquet going on, really late in the night after we had officially closed. Louis told me to change the time on my timecard so I wouldn't get in trouble for working overtime."

"Does your boss usually have you work late for events like this?" Rollins asked.

Mike shrugged. "Sometimes," He said. "I'm sixteen, so there's a limit to how many hours -" He paused, his eyes flaring. "Am I gonna get in trouble for this?"

"Labor law isn't really our concern," Rollins said.

"You see anyone who looked like this?" Fin asked, showing a picture of Sophia Danatto on his cell phone. She was smiling, unbruised, unafraid, and wearing a blazer. They had pulled it off of the staff pictures page on the school's website where she worked.

Mike narrowed his eyes, studying her face. "I don't know, there were a lot of people, and I was mostly in the back," He frowned.

"Think harder," Fin urged. "She with a young guy maybe? Tall, brown hair?"

"That could be half the people at this party," Mike shook his head. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Amanda said, as Fin put his phone away. "Do you know who was hosting the party?"

The kid swallowed, looking nervous. "I heard a couple of the chefs saying that it was the Lucchese family?" He asked, and Fin felt a jolt go through his chest. He tried not to show the concern he felt on his face. "They were here until like, two a.m. I didn't see anyone doing drugs, or anything like that. It just seemed like a normal party to me. I just figured I'd tell someone. If two detectives were poking around, I didn't want to get in trouble for hiding something."

"Thanks, Mike," Fin said, digging into his wallet and taking out a business card. "You did the right thing. Here's my contact, in case you remember anything else."

"I gotta get back to work," Mike said, taking a step and looking back towards the side entrance in the alleyway.

"Thanks again," Rollins called after him, looking towards Tutuola, perplexed, as they got back into the car.

"The Lucchese family?" Rollins asked him, beginning to drive away. "Ever heard of them?"

"I know you've been in New York for a few years now, but there's still a lot you don't know," Fin explained. "The Lucchese family is an old crime family. The patriarch - Alberto Jr. just got out of prison a few years ago for money laundering."

"That's not so bad," Rollins pushed. "So why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Fin shook his head.

"That's all they've been able to charge him with," He frowned. "Junior and his associates have gotten away with far worse than money laundering. Since the Lucchese's moved into the drug business, they've been responsible for dozens of murders and missing persons cases. They're old school though, and they've perfected their whole operation. It's nearly impossible to trace things back to them. I had to deal with them a few times when I was in Narcotics. They've got hundreds of connections all through Manhattan."

"So Sophia was at that dinner with our unknown male, presumably connected to this crime family," Rollins mused. "He puts Sophia in a shady cab, alone, and over the course of the next two hours, she's beat up, raped twice, and nearly stabbed to death. You think she was a target of a mob hit?"

"Maybe," Fin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hope not. That makes everything so much messier."

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 **Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, and followed so far! Again, forgive me if legal/criminal terminology is off - I don't have a beta and am by no means an** **expert in this kind of thing! Please R &R!**


	4. Chapter 3

It had been a week and a half since Sophia had been released from the hospital. She'd gone back to her apartment, tried to rebuild a sense of normalcy there, but everything seemed off. The place was too empty, too open, and too quiet. She had drawn the blinds during the day, turned on the radio, or the television just for some noise, but she felt unnerved and cold. More and more bits and pieces of her attack were coming back, hanging with her like a noose, paralyzing, strangling her. She wanted to forget it all, more than anything else in the world, but that wasn't going to be possible.

She'd had to cancel her credit cards, get a new phone, and submit an application for a new driver's license. She had only been found with the dress she was wearing - her purse from that night gone, and the dress now too, for evidence. Everything had been lost, and while she was waiting for news that this evidence was found, she was beginning to think that she'd never get these things back. These, and a lot else.

Her body was healing, but slowly. Even in July, she had taken to wearing long sleeves, though covering up marks wasn't anything new. The scrapes and bruises on her face and torso had faded into nothingness, but the more severe trauma remained. Almost two weeks later and there was still deep bruising around her cracked rib, and her concussion made strenuous activity difficult. These would go away in time, she knew, but the stab wounds were the worst by far. Every time she took a shower, she could count all six of the marks. One on her right forearm and another on her left shoulder, when she had tried to shield herself. A third underneath her breast, another above it, beneath her collarbone. The fifth was beneath her ribs, on the left side of her navel, and the sixth just parallel to it, on the other side. She graced her fingertips over each of them, as if touching them would make them go away. These scars would always be with her, an ugly, horrific reminder.

How could she tell anyone about what had happened to her? She desperately needed to tell someone, someone besides the nurses, or the police. She hadn't yet told her parents, her friends, or even Danny about what had happened, although she'd tried calling and texting him, trying to get him to pick up. There had been no response. The thought of what he would think when she inevitably had to tell him made her feel sick with worry. Could he ever see her the same way? Would he even still want to be with her, especially when she looked like this?

The day she had returned back home the couple who lived next door had come back to the building at the same time, surprising her on the staircase up with her arms full of mail. "Where have you been?" Annie had asked her, her eyes bright and teasing. "You didn't say you were going on vacation -"

"Yeah, we could have gotten your mail for you?" April suggested, and Sophia laughed nervously, tugging her sleeves over the visible bandages on her arm.

"Sorry, it was kind of last minute," She quickly made up an excuse, banishing any thought of telling them the truth before it had even arisen. "I went upstate, to visit my parents." She was quick to turn the conversation back to them, and Annie was eager to chat about an underground indie concert they had just went to. Sophia preferred it that way. She didn't want her neighbors to know what had been done to her, she didn't want them to get involved. School was out for the summer, and there was nothing to do but wait, stewing in stagnancy. Her doctors had told her to rest and take things easy, but there was only so much that reading books or watching daytime soap operas could do. Creating algebra worksheets and brainstorming problems caused painful headaches, forcing her to stop trying to plan ahead for the academic year.

The trip to her bank had been an ordeal, grocery shopping nearly brought a panic attack. The men who had attacked her were still out there, still walking freely. Was she being watched? Could this all happen again? She was afraid to leave her house, afraid to step out on the street, especially when it was dark out. Every shadowy silhouette, every dark alleyway was a reminder. Sophia spent her nights lying awake, alone. Sleep meant returning to the night of the sixteenth all over again, replaying the worst night of her life over and over again in her dreams. And so she waited for any news, waited for Danny to call, waited for anything to break this mounting, overpowering silence.

She was chopping onions and celery for a bolognese sauce when the knock on her door came, startling her so much that her knife slipped, nearly nicking her finger. She exhaled slowly, setting down the knife and slowly approaching the door, peering out the peephole. To her surprise, Sonny Carisi was standing there, accompanied by one of the other detectives she'd seen while in the hospital. His name escaped her, and Sophia slid the chain out of the door guard before unlocking the door.

"Hi, Sophia," Carisi smiled when she opened the door. "We just wanted to check in. You remember Detective Tutuola?"

"Yes, of course," She said. Now it was coming back to her, and she smiled at them, her heart rate beginning to gradually slow. "Please, come - come in. I was just cooking dinner."

"Smells delicious," Detective Tutuola commented, as Sophia took back her place back at the island countertop, continuing to prep the sauce. "Spaghetti bolognese?

"Yeah, you want some?" She asked, sliding the vegetables into the rest of the sauce on a frying pan. "There's going to be leftovers."

"Might take you up on that," Sonny said, leaning against the side of the kitchen island as Tutuola took a seat at the one of the barstools opposite her. "How have you been doing?"

"I'm okay," She said, looking away from him as she began to stir up the sauce. "Been feeling better."

"You look better," Sonny said. "Glad to hear it."

"We wanted to see if there's anything further you remembered about the night of your attack," Tutuola added, shooting Carisi a glance. "Sometimes more information comes back over time."

"I already gave a statement at the hospital," Sophia frowned, feeling a knot form in her stomach. She wanted to talk to Danny before she said anything more to the police. Both detectives nodded, and thankfully didn't question this.

"We've found some new information about the case," Tutuola said, reaching for his phone. He flicked through it a few times and pulled up a grainy video, which he turned towards Sophia. She twisted around to look at it, still stirring as the sauce simmered in the pan. "This is traffic cam footage outside of Moretti's restaurant. Here's you leaving, at around twelve am." He paused the video as a man stepped out of the restaurant doors after her. "Can you ID this guy?"

"Oh, that's Danny," Sophia furrowed her brow. "Um, my boyfriend, Daniel Rizzi."

"He was at the party with you?" Tutuola asked, and Sophia nodded. Carisi stiffened, taking a step back as she moved towards him, reaching back across the countertop and placing the dirtied knife in the sink. She didn't meet his gaze.

"I guess so."

"Do you remember the party at all?" Carisi asked. "Or leaving with him?" Sophia swallowed, setting the sauce aside on an unused burner. She was sweating a bit; the kitchen felt a bit too warm.

"Kind of, not really," She struggled to think. Before was like recalling against a murky, dark cloud. It was during where things were coming back, where her nights had become a nightmare, reliving it all. "I kind of remember saying goodbye to Danny, getting into the cab. Everything else is kinda hazy. I think… it's the concussion. They said I got hit in the head pretty hard. I'm sorry, I can't really remember."

"It's alright," Sonny told her. "Do you remember anything about the cab driver? What he looked like?"

She grit her teeth, taking out noodles from the cupboard and gripping the door for stability. Her knees felt weak, like they couldn't hold her up properly. "Um, white, maybe? I never saw his face, at least, I don't remember seeing his face…" Her big pot was sitting on top of the cupboards, which she needed to cook the pasta in. Grasping one hand on the countertop, she balanced on her toes, her fingers just brushing the handles of the pot.

"Let me get that for you," She heard Sonny say, as her vision began to swim. A protest formed at her lips when her knees suddenly gave out and buckled beneath her, and she realized she was about to faint...

Except strong arms caught her around the waist instead, holding her steady from behind. "You alright?" She heard Tutuola ask, heard the scrape of a chair as he got to his feet. She looked up to see Sonny right behind her, and she gripped his arm, bowing her head and trying to recenter herself.

"Hey, take it easy," He said gently. "Have a seat, you're alright." He guided her towards the adjacent living room, and she didn't resist. She let him help her onto the couch and put her feet up. "You been on your feet too long?"

"I think so," She placed her hand on her forehead, feeling a cold sweat. How embarrassing… "I'm okay, I - I think I just overdid it. The concussion…"

"Here, drink some water," Tutuola stood over her, and her tunnel vision rescinded long enough for her to reach for the cool glass. It did feel better, once her head stopped swimming.

"I'm so sorry," Sophia muttered, feeling the perspiration from the glass cool her hands. "It's happened before, I'll be fine."

"It's happened before?" Tutuola asked, concerned. "Do you think you need to see a doctor again?"

"It's okay," She insisted. "It's really fine. I'm feeling better already." She noticed that Sonny had begun to boil water on the stove, taking over exactly where she had left off. She was too tired to offer protest. "Thanks for the water."

"Do you have anyone who checks in on you?" Tutuola asked, and Sophia felt flustered again.

"I - I'm really alright," She excused. "I have my neighbors next door I can call if I need anything."

"What about Danny?" The detective asked, and Sophia stiffened, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. She cast a glance towards Sonny, who paused at the stove, looking her way.

"I, ah, I haven't heard from him," She said quietly.

"For two weeks?"

"I've been trying to contact him!" Sophia said defensively, then quickly collected herself. "He hasn't answered my calls. I don't know where he is..." She felt a lump form in her throat, at the possibility that he could have been hurt by the same people who had done what they did to her. She brushed the thought out of her mind.

"Alright," Tutuola said placatingly. "You have our contact info, right? Call us as soon as you hear from him."

The detectives stayed until Carisi had finished preparing the bolognese, but politely refused when Sophia offered them some to take back with them. Out on the street outside the apartment complex, the stifling midsummer air hit both of the detectives hard, and Carisi loosened his tie.

"Nearly two weeks and the boyfriend hasn't contacted her?" He scoffed. "What a scumbag."

"Maybe he's feeling guilty," Tutuola frowned.

"What, you think that it was Rizzi that did this to her?"

"She says that there were two men," Tutuola said. "It's possible that Rizzi was one of them."

"He could have left the restaurant after Sophia did and met up with the cab driver later," Carisi proposed. "Didn't want to be seen leaving with her if it was premeditated."

"We need to find Rizzi as soon as possible," Fin slowed down. "What he was doing at a Lucchese dinner in the first place, and why he was the last person to see Sophia before the attack."

* * *

 **Sorry if that's not how you make spaghetti bolognese! Please review! Thanks everyone!**


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